


your starless eyes remain

by ever_lost



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Bucky Barnes-centric, Kinda?, Like Very Brief, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, also a kinda, there's a brief mention of natasha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-08-03 03:50:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16318589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ever_lost/pseuds/ever_lost
Summary: Thank god he’d put his coffee down seconds before the door opened.That ass though, that could give a man a heart attack.Wait, what?





	your starless eyes remain

Blending into the shadows was his job, was the only reason he was still alive at this point, a ghost story. A scary story for the international assassins of the world. Hell, the Black Widow was at least a little scared of him and he wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Sure, the metal arm and the thousand-yard stare weren’t exactly friendly, but he had feelings. Had. He wasn’t sure if he could feel anything anymore other than anger and sadness and cycling through the two of those while remembering things isn’t exactly a walk in the park. Which is where he was. Brooklyn was drawing him in like the world’s strongest magnet and _hotdogssummerstevecyclone_ flashed through his mostly fried excuse for a brain. 

Steve Rogers. Captain America. Mission. No, not mission. 

He groaned and pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, dragging his hands down his face and taking in his surroundings. It was dark, probably close to three in the morning. He was in Prospect Park near the bridge, watching the moonlight glint off the water and keeping his eyes peeled for any law enforcement wandering about to catch late-night park goers. He definitely didn’t need a trespassing ticket when he technically didn’t exist. Every memory involving _stevengrantrogers_ seemed to give him an immediate headache that he didn't know he could get. Headaches didn’t exist when cryo existed. Headaches didn’t exist when the serum existed. 

Memories suck. 

Walking aimlessly through Prospect Park at three in the morning wasn’t his favorite pastime but when sleeping on the roof of a building wasn’t an option, sneaking past police officers was. He could easily skirt the edges of the park and not be found, though wearing all black did help. Sometimes, he skipped over the park completely and sat on the roof of the building he’d discovered as the Captain’s apartment building, listening to him sleep soundly as he watched for other international assassins coming to murder Captain America in his sleep. A coward kill, really. He scrunched his face in disgust at the thought of being cowardly enough to have to kill someone _while they’re sleeping._ They should at least know they’re going to die. Wait, no. That’s a bad thought. Killing people isn’t an occupation, though he did have a considerable amount of money somehow. There’d been a note involved and a little plastic card attached to it. Maybe the Widow had something to do with it, seemed like something an international spy would do. Maybe she’d forgive him for shooting through her eventually.

It’d been a couple of months since the helicarrier incident and Captain America was still looking for him, still trying to hunt down the empty shell of his best friend from the previous century. He rolled his eyes at himself as he walked, he wasn’t an empty shell _anymore_ but he wasn’t Captain America’s best friend either. He made his own decisions. He had an order at Starbucks, he discovered he didn’t like the jellies in bubble tea although he did enjoy all of the flavors they put in the tea now. It was a texture thing, he’d decided. Cap hadn’t stopped though and all he really needed to do was go to the roof of his building for some fresh air and boom, there he’d be. Speaking of the roof of Cap’s building, apparently he’d walked there and scaled a building without consciously doing it. Cool, absolutely wonderful. Losing time was another favorite pastime of his. He inhaled deeply and let out a long sigh as he settled on the edge of the roof, swing his legs back and forth a little while he surveyed his surroundings. 

Now it was close to four in the morning and the city would start waking up. The city that never sleeps _his ass _. He snorted at the thought and gathered his unruly hair into a small bun on the top of his head, a pleasing new discovery being that his hair was long enough to do that. Hair ties were also another amazing discovery and much kinder to said unruly hair than plain rubber bands. Cleaning his weapons was his next task, starting with his guns and ending with the knives. The knives were his favorite, considering he had probably close to fifteen on his person at all times. Guns were harder to conceal, especially walking around New York during the day. One couldn’t exactly conceal a Skorpion that was designed to sit between shoulder blades out in the open. While he only carried two guns, specifically his SIG Sauer P220ST and the Intratec TEC-38, the rest of his firearms (all nine of them plus his grenade launcher) were kept safe on the roof of Cap’s building.__

__His mornings were spent cleaning his guns and listening to the city come alive around him, eyes flitting around as his hands mechanically cleaned each part of the firearm in his hands. His mission was to… kill Captain America? No. He couldn’t kill Captain America when all of his guns were in need of a clean even if he hadn’t used them. Dirty guns jam. Dirty guns will get him killed. Captain America was his friend._ _

_Til the end of the line, pal._

__Whatever the fuck that meant._ _

__It meant something, though._ _

__A groan escaped his lips as another flash of pain rippled through his head, momentarily blinding him before subsiding as quickly has it had come on. He’d dropped the Mark II he’d been cleaning and frowned at the fact that he’d have to clean it again. It was already close to 0500 and the Captain would be getting up soon to prepare for his morning run, allowing him to sit on the roof for exactly forty-five minutes before the Captain returned. He’d break into the apartment once he’d left for the day and inspect the locks on the door and windows, checking the security system, reinforced bolts in the door, bulletproof windows. At least he didn’t have to kill Captain America anymore. He could get Starbucks and walk around New York and eat at the Thai restaurant down the street and ride the subway to Manhattan to watch the other Avengers if he wanted. So much free time without cryo and the chair. Once the knife was clean, it was placed back into its holster._ _

__He sighed as the sun started to peek over the horizon, meaning that the Starbucks down the block would be opening soon. The man inside the apartment wouldn’t be leaving for his run until close to 0545, meaning he had approximately a half hour to get his caffeine fix. Memories from the war were spotty and the ones he did remember usually weren’t the most pleasant, his brain choosing to remember the trenches and being strapped to a table for who knows how long before being rescued. He did remember the coffee, though, how he used to run off the liquid and even used to steal the Howlie’s rations when he ran out. Not like they drank as much as he did anyway. Coffee nowadays was less on the acidic side and more on the sugary side, definitely likely to cause a cavity. But he could get two shots of espresso and be good for most of the day. What a time to ~~still~~ be alive._ _

__Once he was back on the ground, he scanned the sidewalk for possible threats and tucked his chin into the collar of his jacket, sliding his hands into his pockets and setting off. There weren’t many people out at the moment, mostly just early morning joggers and the occasional dog walker. The Starbucks he frequented wasn’t far from the apartment building, allowing his morning coffee run to be fast. The rush of warm air on his face when he pushed the door open, making him frown at the little hairs that fell from his bun. The girl at the counter smiled at him as though she wasn’t afraid. He could see her pupils dilate and her fingers fidgeted with a permanent marker as he scanned the menu. When she asked for a name he gave the usual eyebrow raise because, really, who else was in the store this early? He watched as she methodically made his drink and shot a tense smile at him as he left. At least he still had the glare going for him._ _

__The building’s surroundings hadn’t changed much in the ten minutes he’d been gone, although he did peek into the Captain’s living room and watched for a second as he ate a bowl of cereal. With an eye roll, he carefully swung back onto the roof, priding himself in not spilling his expensive coffee. God damn inflation. He perched himself on the edge of the roof, letting his legs hang over the edge as he sipped his coffee and watched the birds fly from building to building. Sometimes he remembered sleeping in the roof of the shitty building he’d lived in before the war, sitting closer to the stars and hoping a breeze would cool his overheated skin. His temple throbbed as he tried to dig deeper into the memory, making him wince and press metal fingers into the pain. A soft groan escaped his lips and he squeezed his eyes shut, thinking about Starbucks since it was the most recent memory he had. The pain subsided and he sighed, sipping his coffee and slowly opening his eyes once more. The sun had risen substantially in the few minutes his eyes were shut, allowing him to see the street below more clearly._ _

__A few blocks in the opposite direction of Starbucks, he saw a black clad figure walking slowly behind a woman with a small dog. He furrowed his brow and continued to watch the figure’s every move because, really? It’s not even 0600 and someone was already being an asshole. The woman took a small glance over her shoulder and began to walk a bit faster, making him sigh and put his coffee down. Of fucking course. He quickly made his way down the fire escape and waited in the alley until the woman and her dog walked by, reaching out to grab the person in black just as they were speeding up to grab the woman’s arm. The altercation didn’t last long, he didn’t kill the man, just beat him up a little and threatened him with a knife, maybe, possibly growling a bit. Was it over the fact that he was forced to leave his coffee up on the roof? Maybe. Was it because he didn’t really understand why he felt compelled to fight people like a certain someone used to and probably still did? Also a maybe._ _

__Thankfully, his coffee was still warm when he got back up to the roof and he resumed his position on the edge of the building. He hadn’t been back long when the creak of the roof door startled him, making him whip around into a defensive stance, ready to throw his knife when - holy shit- _stevengrantrogers_ was standing in front of him, arms out as if he wasn’t a threat. Thank fucking god he’d put his coffee down seconds before the door opened._ _

_That ass though, that could give a man a heart attack._

__Wait, what?_ _

__He shook his head and steadied his breathing, eyeing up his opponent and visually searching for any weapons. Anything close to him that could be thrown across the roof. _Steve_ had said something. What had he said? Why hadn’t he been listening? He growled at himself before shaking his head again, a sudden headache ripping through his skull as he fixed his eyes on the man’s face._ _

__“Buck, it’s me. Steve.”_ _

__“Obviously.”_ _

__He was confused about the remark, not questioning where the sarcastic response came from when his brain helpfully supplied a memory of sassing a small Steve in front of a farmer’s market in 1934. Why does he remember the year when he can barely remember how to tie his own shoes sometimes? Stupid mostly-fried brain._ _

__“Have you been living on the roof of my building?”_ _

__“No.”_ _

__His voice sounded terrible, all gravelly and damn it, he’d just used it earlier that morning when he left the roof for ten minutes and forty-four seconds to get Starbucks. He’d definitely been living on the roof of the building for almost a month now, hiding his firearms under an abandoned pallet propped against the fire escape. Finding the place had been surprisingly difficult, there were a lot of apartment buildings in New York. At least he was living up here and not in an alley next to a dumpster. He had standards of homeless living._ _

__“Okay, well can you come to my apartment? Is that - is that Starbucks? God, at least you still like coffee.”_ _

__“Was already there yesterday, haven’t had a chance to stop in today. You don’t clean up your socks.”_ _

__It was true. The Steve Rogers he’d known back in the thirties had a terrible habit of not cleaning up after himself. Sheets of paper with half drawings on them, holey socks, blankets, shirts. Bucky’d been Steve’s personal maid ever since they’d moved in together. Apparently old habits die hard._ _

__Bucky? He’s Bucky._ _

_Who the hell is Bucky?_

__Like, really? Because it sure as hell ain’t him. Can’t refer to yourself as a person that you aren’t. He grimaced._ _

__“You come into my apartment without seeing me?”_ _

__He shrugged noncommittally because it was it wasn’t like he was completely avoiding the other man; he just didn’t want to interact. Maybe ever. The last time they’d been in contact it had ended with Steve falling out of the helicarrier and having to be pulled to the river bank, his face half smashed in and suffering through a few healing bullet holes. He wouldn’t call those the greatest terms to rekindle a friendship on. Plus, there was the blinding pain that almost tore his brain in half every time he thought of Steve, something similar to the chair’s effects. Maybe it was somehow working in reverse? Like the pain was trying to put his brain back together instead of into the blender. Who even knows, brains are stupid and he didn’t have time to brood over it._ _

__“Let me rephrase. You come into my apartment to check on me? Um, d’you wanna come in? I’ll make you some more coffee, considering that one’s probably almost gone. I mean, only if you’d wanna. No pressure. Um, please, Buck?”_ _

__He remembered the patented Steve Rogers Puppy Dog Face as easily as he remembered that the sky was blue, grass was green, and water was wet. He remembers never being able to say no to it and somehow getting into trouble with Mrs. Baker down the street for swiping a few candy bars out of her shop. He also remembers how coffee from the forties was almost an equivalent to battery acid. He was probably going to regret this but it’s not like anything else in his life could go wrong at this point. At least his weapons were clean. And he _was_ almost out of coffee. _ _

__“Sure.”_ _

**Author's Note:**

> so this is the first work i've posted online in almost seven years and my first stevebucky fic so here goes!!  
> 


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